


Courtship Display

by nyctigamous, padthot (orphan_account)



Category: Glass (2019), Split (2016)
Genre: AU - no creepy girl-stealing basement-dwelling shennanigans, Dom/sub, F/M, Honestly this is just smut, Seduction, Sexual Content, Smut, dominant!casey, submissive!dennis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 11:52:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18365453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyctigamous/pseuds/nyctigamous, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/padthot
Summary: Seems like for a girl to be noticed these days, you really have to go down and get dirty.It has taken Casey ages to catch Dennis' attention, and this is what he falls for?Goddamn fool.





	Courtship Display

**Author's Note:**

> I have nothing to say for myself. @padthot made me do it.
> 
> Also, friendly note: this is a friendship setting.. no basement dwelling beasts and kidnapped girls in this one. Just good ol' established friendship.

 

 

"Take it off."   
  
This  _ buffoon _ . This utterly predictable, out-of-control, thick-accented buffon. This man? A pure moron.   
  
He really just fell into her trap.   
  
He stares at her from under his glasses, blue irises curling into something akin to shame, lips forming to say, likely, that she doesn't have to. That it's a compulsion.   
  
She knows she doesn't have to. She knows he'd accept it if she refused, or simply left the room. She knows he won't do anything about it, because he's trying to be good.   
  
What  _ he _ doesn't know, however, is that she's been waiting for this  _ exact _ moment.   
  
She's tried everything. God, she did. She'd flirt, she'd touch him, lean into him, she even resorted to revealing clothing and sultry innuendos, god damn it! All of it -  _ all of it _ \- either fell deaf on his ears, or he was really,  _ really _ good at hiding whatever it was that was going on behind his thick exterior.   
  
So, what other choices does she have? At some point, she thought she'd have to literally strip in front of him to make him receive the message. And, yeah, that's when it hit her.   
  
Seems like for a girl to be noticed these days, you really have to go down and get dirty.   
  
And there he is. A fly in a trap. Shame filling his perpetual scowl. She wants to reach out, to brush against it and ease it and tell him that it's okay, like she usually does. But her hands have something else to do.   
  
And they don't hesitate, much to her surprisal. Fingers curling around her buttons in a quick pace, methodical pushing and pulling, and she watches, with satisfaction, how his eyes snake around each one, following her fingers. She sees, with a hidden sly grin, how his fingers twitch, hands and arms tensing up. 

 

It's anger, she thinks, in its whole purity. Exasperation. She's beyond the point of shyness or coyness. There was shyness for the first  _ year _ of trying to get his attention on her, but now? She's done with subtlety. She’s done with trying to get him to understand her message.

 

This time, she’ll be the message herself.

 

She doesn’t dare look down when she shrugs her shirt off, but with the slight cold breeze and with the way her skin pushes against the thin material of her undershirt, she doesn’t need to, to know what is happening there.

 

When she sees his lips parting open, she knows foregoing the bra was a good idea.

 

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck.” His voice is hoarse, and silent, and  _ filled _ with absolute shock and need, and she knows that this whole  _ plan _ was a good idea.

 

She bites her smirk down as she passes him the shirt, which he takes without as much as blinking, unable to tear away his eyes from her, transfixed and bewitched. They sear her up and down, following every line and curve, drinking into every inch of exposed skin, filled with hunger, void of shame, in a way that makes Casey press her thighs together and she fucking  _ loves  _ it.

 

This fool fell for her trap completely and entirely, and there is absolutely no way she is letting go of her prey now.

 

“Your shirt,” she says, eagerness tainting her voice in a high pitch, licking her lips in excitement and accomplishment filling her as he mimics the movement, “it’s dirty. Take it off.”

 

He doesn’t answer her as she stalks closer to him, her chest almost brushing against his. No, he doesn’t so much as  _ blink. _

 

Her hand rests on his upper thigh, a delicate caress going up, and she relishes in the way his chest stutters at the contact. She runs a finger over his erection, just light enough to leave a message, hovering just above to let him feel the desperation, to let him know who’s in control.

 

“These, too.”

 

His shirt is gone before she needs to repeat herself, and she finds herself brushing imaginary lint off of it. She observes it, holds it before her in inspection; putting a show before him she knows he may need. 

 

Casey pulls it on, leaving it unbuttoned and open enough to let him see how large it is on her, and smiles at him as she watches him breathe, heavily, his chest rising and falling in a quick pace.

 

The starved expression on his face is a sight she’d wanted to behold for far too long, and she’ll make sure to relish every single second of it.

 

“Case-”

 

“Carry me to your bed and keep your hands where I can see them.” She interrupts him hastily, firmly, holding his need down and stomping at it until it churns into itself. “I need you to be good for me. Can you do that?” She knows he won’t deny her, knows he won’t resist. 

 

Even if he tries, he won’t get there without her help.

“I-”

 

“And, if you’re good,” she cranes her neck at him, fingers tracing up his jaw against her own volition, “I’ll give you a reward.”

 

There’s a sound from the back of his throat, a grunt, an almost growl, and his voice is low and dangerously desperate when he speaks. “Anything.”

 

Yet she steps back when he reaches for her, dissatisfied with his hungry movement, clicking her tongue at him. No, this just won’t do.

 

“Hands where I can see them, Dennis.” It’s a threat she knows he won’t oppose, not with the need and the plea in his irises, yet she’s surprised to see slight, arousal-driven resistance in them.

 

“I can just-”

 

“Will you?”

 

She challenges him with her stare, daring him to oppose her. And he won’t. Not with the desire written over every inch of his tense body. Not with the way he looks at her; famished, urgent,  _ devoted. _

 

And he doesn’t. He lifts her carefully, hands on her arm and knees, breathing hard and heavy against her. She presses her naked skin against him, running a hand over his neck.

 

“Dennis.” She says, his feverish skin burning against her in a way that makes her own breath hitch in her throat.

 

He doesn’t answer, and keeps staring at her whole with stormy eyes, taking in her form, drowning in their proximity.

 

“Dennis, take me to your bed. I’m not touching you here, and I’m not letting you touch me until you’ve earned it.”

 

His step is haste and fumbled as he rushes to his room, and he nearly trips before sitting down on the bed with her.

 

He sits still and tall, holding her, silent, waiting for instruction. She takes her time, easing away to look at his physique, naked chest heaving with anticipation. He looks wild, burning with raw lust, all for her, all  _ hers. _

 

“Can I-”

 

“No.” She interrupts him firmly, placing her hands on his shoulders. 

 

She smirks when she spreads her legs, seeing his eyes search her thighs. She plants one of her feet onto the ground for stability, and the smirk widens as she feels Dennis grip the knee that she still has on him.

 

She promptly pushes it against him, past him, spreading herself further. His hand follows, obediently, and she plants her thigh against his, sliding her other leg back onto the bed. She pushes both her knees into the mattress, straddling him.

 

She presses one finger into his chest, hard and unyielding and still heaving like he’s just run a marathon, and that’s all it takes to get him on his back.

 

“Thank you, Dennis,” her finger traces the curve down is chest, taking in every time his breathing stutters as she calls his name, “you did good.”

 

Dennis is prompt in his reaction, reaching to grab her thighs to steady himself, but she taps his nose with the same finger. Not to be cruel, or rude, but to show him - she’s not afraid, and knows he will do just as she tells him to.

 

“Ask nicely.” 

 

Her breath shudders as Dennis grunts, flexing against her, every muscle tense and crying with need. She grinds against him, demanding obedience, and he groans into the contact, hips forcefully seizing instinctual bucking.

 

“Please.” He’s pleading her with his eyes, too, but she’s not going to give in easy.

 

“Please, what?” His eyes darken at her voice, dripping with her own desire, heat pooling between her legs, beckoning to give in.

 

“Can I touch you?” She can taste his desperation on the tip of her tongue.

 

He relaxes as she nods, settling his hands back on her thighs, and tenses again when she tells him, “Not there.”

 

She takes his hands in his, hard yet pliable, and traces them slowly up her abdomen, leading them to cup her breasts. “Here.”

 

His exhale is forced and violent, pushing past the audible stutter, the subtle groan. He’s hesitant in his touch, joints stiff, like he isn’t sure if he’s allowed. It’s slow, deliberately slow, and she shows him it’s okay, arching into his touch, keeping her eyes on him, fingers tracing his forearms. 

 

He cups her delicate and gentle, as if afraid her skin will shatter at the touch, but it soon grows bolder, pushing into her skin, the touch turning overly hot, burning against her. She hisses and buckles as his thumbs graze her nipples, sly exploration overtaking him at the sound. He brushes past her undershirt, sneaking in to touch her bare, and her eyes flutter shut at the sensation.

 

It feels reverent, careful, like he’s worshipping every inch of her, and the fragility with which he handles her pleasure almost makes her mind blank.

 

She watches him, through her hisses and sighs, watches the way his pupils eclipse the cool sun of his iris, watches the way he eats into her skin, until they finally meet hers.

 

She grinds again, once, and feels the tingling of thrill on her lower back as he gasps.

 

“Move with me.” 

 

He bucks against her as she grinds one more time, and she falls forward, his hands, still cupped on her breasts, catching her. They’re closer than she intended, and he doesn’t move as she stares at him.

 

His eyes dart around her face, searching and exploring, drinking in the surprise and lust in her eyes. There’s something in his eyes, something like a smile crinkling in the corners of them, as if he adored her, found her cute or sweet. He’s humouring her, she knows it well, but there’s something about it that she adores in him, and the fascination pools in her with heat. 

 

She moves again, back onto him, far less anxious, and his erection catches her. She swallows her gasp as he lets out his, and she pushes back, their eyes still connected and taut.

 

“Undress me.” 

 

She relishes in the way his smiling eyes get enveloped by surprise.

 

“Slowly,” she adds, warmth creeping into her tone, “then get back on bed so I can..” She finishes her sentences with another push against him, drinking the feeling of his heat against her. “I want to feel you better.”

 

His eyes, dark and barely readable beyond incomprehensible hunger, drink into her form as his hands shoot for her shoulders. He pushes his shirt off her, cold breeze hitting her skin, and her breathing halts in anticipation as his fingers grasp the edge of her shirt. He pulls it over her head, letting it rest near his shirt, and her breath stutters when his fingers graze a delicate line from her jaw to her navel. Agonizingly slow, hands splayed over her stomach, he grasps her by the hips.

 

His touch is firm and almost demanding, but she lets it slide as she finds herself off of him as he stands, clutching her close and desperate. He stands her on the bed, makes no mention of her buckling knees, and looks at her from below, worship in his pupils, lips slightly parted, like she’s the most amazing thing he’s ever beheld in his eyes.

 

“Can I kiss you?” His voice is a soft prayer, and she nods, not trusting her own voice.

 

His kisses are soft and hard against her abdomen, carving a trail down her curve, unbuttoning her jeans agonizingly slow. He hooks his fingers around her waistband, pushing the material that covers her down, pulling her underwear along with her pants. Peck and another, he plants himself on her body, and once the clothes reach her calves, he helps her step out of the them. 

 

It is when he’s close enough to help her move back that she gets an idea, and pulls her thigh over his shoulder.

 

“Here,” her voice is hoarse and just as dark as his eyes are, “kiss me here, too.” 

 

His breathing stutters and he groans as if he were in pain, grasping her thigh and her waist in vice holds, pulling her closer. He kisses her thigh, nuzzles into it, leaving marks on it with delirious joy, working his way closer to her core. 

 

He locks his eyes with hers as he encloses on her core, tongue darting into her, brushing against her clit, and she can’t breathe anymore. He pushes himself into her then, pulling her even closer, all attention on the tongue he had on her. She steadies herself against his shoulder, but her knees keep giving, relying on his unyielding hands as they keep her up.

 

He groans against her moans, uncontrollable mewls escaping her from her very core, he mumbles, speaks and begs her, and she can feel his every word on his tongue as he sucks and laps at her. 

 

She’s burning, achingly hot everywhere he touches her, lightning of pleasure coursing through her with every flick of his tongue, and she can’t resist it, can’t fight it as she’s pushed into the water, drowning in the feeling of her orgasm. She comes with a shout, neither of them ready or expecting it, and she almost collapses, but he’s there, holding her taut against him, moving her onto the bed, on top of him, silently and obediently as if he’s been instructed.

 

She catches her breath as she straddles him, seeing him twitch and strain against the material of his pants, and she’s overwhelmed with desire, and she can’t take the strain of it.

 

“Pants and underwear, off.” Her hips stutter as his hands reach for his belt, too slow for her liking. “Now.”

 

He raises his hips and brushes past her thighs as he moves them down. Casey arches her back, biting her lip as she’s on display before him, curling around the fabric of his pants, helping him kick them off.

 

She can see he expects her to be slow, sees the fizzing anticipation in his blown pupils, but she’s beyond that point, and she’s not giving him that. She positions herself and collapses onto him without warning or asking, letting him stretch and fill her. Dennis bucks twice against her, his eyes shutting closed, breath fluttering.

 

“ _ Casey _ .” It’s closer to a whine than a plea, and she sits unmovingly, relishing in the amount of his control.

 

“Don’t move.”  _ Her _ control.

 

She moves against him, slow and almost delicate, feeling every inch of him inside her, locking her eyes with his own, feeling intoxicated with the desperation and need shining in them. He lays still and lets her ride him, muscles seizing and tensing, yet he doesn’t move. His grunts are soft yet uncontrollable, and she slowly builds in with him, the searing need rising in her again, rising tides of it gripping her every cell. She feels him, feels him twitch inside her, until she’s breaking, until she can’t take it anymore, until she needs to be  _ taken. _

 

“Dennis” It’s a gasp that escapes her in the shape of his name, and she knows all of his attention is on her, “are you listening?”

 

He nods at her, the movement weak and stuttered.

 

“Good, Dennis, I need you to do what you want with me.”

 

“Wh-”

 

“I need you,” she’s losing herself as it is already, “to lose control for me.”

 

“I-”

 

“Dennis,  _ please.”  _

 

The plea is curt and desperate, filled with need for nothing else but him, and she’s on her back before she registers the shift, legs around his shoulders, and he loses himself into her, plunging and drilling, hard and fast and messy, hands covering her every inch in fleeting moments the same way his voice forms itself into her name, over and over and over again, the rhythm of him coiling in her, blanking her mind, pushing her closer and closer towards the edge. 

 

He holds her close and whispers her name as if it was a prayer, and it is when he kisses her when she loses it completely, kissing him back with fervor, his own orgasm following just seconds after. 

 

He gasps her name and buries himself in her neck, and all she can think of doing is holding him close, circling her arms around him. 

 

She feels sore when he pulls out, and he kisses her temple when she hisses. They share their heavy breath as he collapses on his side, collecting her in his arms, pulling her close. His hands run over her back in circles, and he plants kisses on her, her forehead, her cheeks, her neck, as if each kiss was something meant to be said, as if each has been reserved for her before, waiting to be planted on her skin. He breathes into her, her flush against him.

 

His chest rumbles in his chuckle, and she feels warm as he smiles against her hair. 

 

“It worked.” He whispers, in an almost-silent awe and humour, not believing himself.

 

Casey frowns.

 

“What worked?”

 

“Asking for your shirt off. It worked.” He’s still smiling into her hair as the realisation slowly trickles into her.

 

And then it dawns at her like a fucking meteor into the solid ground of Earth.

 

He planned this. He  _ planned _ this. There she was, crying herself to sleep over this fool for over a year, pulling every trick she knew in the book, bending herself over counters, throwing back-handed suggestions, and he just goes ahead and plans  _ one thing _ and it  _ works? _

 

She thinks, puzzled, staring at his chest, frowning, until she starts to realise -  _ has _ this been the only thing he’s tried?

 

There’s silence in her own mind at the thought.

 

Oh, fuck.


End file.
